


Messenger of the Gods

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 22:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: What happens after, and how Umbra does his best to untangle the mess made by careless gods. Spoilers through the end of the game and for Episode Ignis.





	Messenger of the Gods

Umbra awakes on the steps of the Citadel when the sun rises.

The short boy is already heading back towards Hammerhead. Umbra sees him from a bird’s-eye view, trudging down the road. The blind one is walking through the rubble of the destroyed city, tears streaming down his face. And the third one, as broad as a Banora tree, is sitting on the steps next to Umbra, his head in his hands.

Umbra is aware that they perceive him as a dog, so he doesn’t mind when Gladio reaches over and scratches between his ears. It’s nice.

“It’s been ten years and he still avoids me,” Gladio says, staring at his knees. “Why?”

“He’s afraid you’ll blame him.”

The big guy jumps.

“You can talk?”

“Of course I can talk. You understand that I’m not actually a dog, don’t you?”

“Uh— yes.” 

Umbra hears him think, _Or at least I do now!_ He grins a doggy smile and pushes his head into Gladio’s palm. “More scratching, please.”

Gladio obliges. “You sure act like a dog.”

“I have vast insight into all living beings.”

“I remember when he loved me,” Gladio says sadly. “It was such a long time ago.”

Umbra licks his paw while he considers the threads of fate. The gods have tangled them so badly that it would be difficult to make things worse. The progression of events leading to the long-awaited sunrise has little logic or reason.

“Stare straight into my eyes,” he commands.

 

***

 

Gladio recognizes the place immediately. He still dreams of it sometimes. He’s sitting on the steps outside the old outdoor racquetball courts at the Citadel. He and Ignis used to meet there when they were teenagers. The high walls gave them privacy, and since racquetball had fallen out of fashion with the aristocracy many generations ago, no one ever bothered them.

Umbra pads in a lazy circle, then curls his tail around his nose and closes his eyes. Gladio waits, listening to the wind in the trees, the leaves skittering across the concrete, until he hears footsteps. He straightens up; his stomach clenches. He’s afraid.

Ignis comes around the corner and freezes. He isn’t afraid, he’s incredulous. “Umbra? What have you done?”

The gray dog lifts its head, yawns, and goes back to sleep.

“Gladio,” Ignis says softly.

His heart feels like it’s stopped in his chest. “I thought you would ask if I were some long-lost Amicitia uncle.”

“Don’t be silly.” He takes a step closer. “Why did he bring you here? What year are you from?”

He has to think about it for a moment. It’s not the sort of thing that’s mattered recently. “Seven sixty-six.”

Ignis’s hands go over his mouth. “Fifteen years.” Then he darts forward. “Your hair is so long! You finally listened to me.”

Gladio laughs. “I’d forgotten about that. I guess it took me a while.”

“But your face, Gladio—”

“I got old.”

“No, the scars.” Ignis sits down next to him and reaches tentatively to trace the vertical line across his cheek.

“Oh. Right. That doesn’t happen for a few more years.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Not at all.”

“It looks good on you. What about this one?”

“It’s newer.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Gladio thinks of Ignis. The other Ignis. How quiet he’d been on the train. Gladio had reached across the table to take his hands, and asked him if it still hurt, and after a few moments he had only nodded. This Ignis is wearing the glasses Gladio remembers from their childhood, with frames that go all the way around the lenses. It’s one memory he will never let slip away. Iggy’s eyes, so vivid in the sunlight, reflecting the grass and the leaves at him as they met in the park, leaning against a tree, long afternoons that seemed like they would last forever. “I remember the color of your eyes.”

Ignis startles back, and Gladio curses himself. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Am I dead? In your future?”

“No! No. But you have different glasses. I remember these ones. I used to kick you under the table when we were studying, and you would give me such a glare over the top of them—”

“And then take them off later to kiss you,” Ignis says, folding them up and slipping them into his shirt pocket. Gladio pulls back.

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“You— you’re too young.”

“I just kissed you this morning.”

“That was the other me,” Gladio says helplessly. “And what if he comes by and sees me kissing you? He’ll murder me.”

Ignis slides his hand up Gladio’s arm, tracing the curve of his biceps. “I wager you could take him on. Regardless of all that training he’s been doing lately.” He leans in quickly, before Gladio can stop him. “Just one,” he says, and presses a sweet kiss full on his mouth. Gladio fights back the tears rising to his eyes. Iggy’s lips are soft, unscarred, smiling. The smile doesn’t last long.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what happens to us. Why are you crying?” He goes very still. “Where is Noctis in your future?”

Gladio bows his head, composing himself. When he’s reasonably certain he can control his voice, he says, “He’s grown into a wise and generous king. You would be proud of him, Iggy. You _are_ proud of him. In my future.”

Umbra puts a paw on his leg, and Gladio understands. “Goodbye, Ignis. I want you to know, whatever happens, I never stop loving you. Every year of my life I love you more. Don’t forget.” 

 

***

 

Umbra walks through the empty streets of the Crown City.

He doesn’t pity Ignis. Although the morning sun casts a lovely light on the broken buildings and deserted bicycles, the range of colors Umbra can perceive in his current form is sadly limited. It’s not the sight of the sun, after all these years, that makes him want to run and roll like a puppy. It’s the feel of it on his fur and skin, not just warm but vibrant, energizing, irreplaceable. And Ignis can feel it too. He’s sitting on a bus bench, arms at his side, face tilted up to the sky, soaking it in. Umbra leaps up next to him and drops his chin on Ignis’s thigh.

“It’s time to go back.”

Ignis takes a deep, shuddering sigh and wipes his face. “I thought this day would come sooner. Why did you wait so long? Now it’s too late.” 

“It’s always too late. Did meeting Gladio when you were seventeen change anything?”

“No,” the blind man says. “I never told him.”

Umbra inclines his head gravely. “I didn’t think you would. But why not tell him now?”

“He would never understand. He would blame me. And I can’t bear that.” Ignis leans forward and pushes his face into Umbra’s fur. “He’s all I have left.”

 

***

 

When he lifts his head, he knows immediately where he is. The scent of old books is unmistakable; paper, leather, dust. The velvet arms of the chair are comforting and achingly familiar. So many enchanted evenings they’d spent here, undisturbed after the adults went home to bed. Drinking cocoa and telling long, rambling stories about the adventures they would have someday, once they were the ones in charge. The fire is warm on Ignis’s face. They got in trouble once for spilling roasted marshmallows all over the hearth, but Gladio had talked his way out of it. He was good at that.

Umbra jumps from his lap, flopping onto his feet like a furry pair of slippers. Ignis reaches down and scratches his head. “The gods are cruel, but they sent a kind messenger,” he murmurs. Umbra wuffs softly in response and falls silent.

Ignis doesn’t have to wait long before he hears footsteps. They stop. A sharp intake of breath, but when Gladio speaks his voice is steady.

“Who are you? What are you doing in His Majesty’s library? Explain yourself.”

He leans forward to let the firelight better illuminate his features. “Don’t you know me?”

“No,” Gladio whispers. “No.”

“Umbra, say hello to Gladio.” Ignis nudges the dog with his foot. “Go on, so he’ll believe us.”

Umbra’s head lifts, and he greets Gladio with a sleepy bark before curling up again.

“It can’t be. Oh, sweet Astrals, what did they do to you? If it really is you—“ He hesitates.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what I’m planning for your eighteenth birthday.”

Ignis sighs with pleasure and drops his head back against the chair. It’s a fond memory, one he hasn’t revisited in a long time. “You took me to the chocobo races, because I was finally old enough to get in without a parent or guardian. You bought me a beer. I can still taste it. Pale wheat from Cleigne, with the slightest hint of oranges. But I only had a few sips. I was having too much fun cheering on my trifecta, and the beer went flat. I didn’t mind. You were so excited. I lost the hundred gil I’d put down. None of my racers even placed. But they were beautiful. They ran with such joy. And then—“ He pauses, smiling, the memory even sweeter after all the years. “I’ll let that be a surprise.”

Gladio’s voice is thick, muffled as if he’s got a hand over his mouth. “I haven’t told anyone about planning that. Not even Iris. Iggy, can you see me?”

“No,” Ignis says gently. “But I’m very aware of you. You’re standing a few feet in front of my chair. And you’re trying not to cry.”

“I’m going to hug you,” Gladio warns before throwing his arms around Ignis in a fierce embrace. He felt it coming, of course. But it was good of Gladio to say so. He’s always been kind, kinder than he gets credit for. Ignis remembers how his hands had trembled on the train, how he’d fought to keep his voice steady as he apologized, over and over. Gladio cared too much. He always had. It was one of his few flaws. He’s speaking so fast Ignis can barely keep up.

“Why are you here? Is there something I’m supposed to change? Tell me what I can do to protect you. Where was I when you were hurt? I’ll kill them, I’ll kill whoever did this to you— oh, Iggy, how could I let this happen—“

“There’s nothing you can do.” He strokes Gladio’s spiky hair. So short. Never that short again. “You can’t change anything.”

Gladio lifts his head from Ignis’s chest. The furrow between his brows deepens. “Iggy, where is Noctis?”

“He’s safe.” It isn’t exactly a lie. “But you’ll have to help him. It’s going to be difficult. You’ll want to give up—“

“Never!”

“—trust him anyway. Even when there’s no light ahead. He needs you.”

“Of course he needs me!” Gladio swipes a hand across his nose. “I’m his Shield.”

The brave innocence in his voice makes Ignis’s throat burn with unshed tears. “I know. You always will be.”

Gladio pets his cheek, tentatively, brushing the edge of the starburst scar. “Iggy, can I kiss you?”

He smiles, remembering the shaggy, careworn man on the steps of the racquetball court in a dirty Kingsglaive uniform. “Just one.”

It’s a soft kiss. Gladio is clean-shaven. Ignis cups his face in one hand and slides his thumb over the unmarked cheek. “Now we both have a secret. Remember I love you. Nothing can change that.”

Umbra stirs at his feet before Gladio can reply, and the heat of the fire turns into morning sun.

 

***

 

The three of them are sitting on the steps of the Citadel.

“There is no timeline in which Noctis survives past the age of thirty,” Umbra says.

“That’s impossible.”

“Not one. And many in which he fails. I have seen the Accursed slaughter the four of you in exponentially creative ways. I have seen you, Gladio, betray the prince and turn to drink to drown your sorrows. I have seen Ignis die a hundred times on a battlefield, quite bravely, but no less dead for it. In none of these timelines does Noctis live to ascend the throne. Only in the afterlife. And my vision there is murky.”

Gladio turns to Ignis. “And you knew? You knew the whole time?”

“You came to me when I was seventeen. I know you, Gladio. I knew you were hiding something about Noct. I begged Umbra for help.”

“He did,” says the gray dog, and rests its head on its paws.

“Umbra told me it was written in the stars. He warned me that trying to change Noct’s destiny was a hopeless endeavor. I spent years searching the archives anyway.” Gladio hears the effort it’s taking him to tell this story. Ignis’s voice is calm, but his fingers are twisting in his lap. “I went to King Regis in the end. I don’t know what I thought he could do. But he wasn’t shocked. He was only sad. He looked me in the eyes and said nothing would save him. No path we took would change the course of the future. He said Noctis’s life was forfeit to the gods and had been since he was born.”

“His own father,” Gladio breathes, remembering how the king bid them farewell on these very steps without a word of warning. 

“His own father. His Majesty didn’t hesitate to lay down his own life, of course. I believe he saw the role of kingship differently than we did. Not so much the ruler of Lucis as its proxy. He told me, when I was very small, that Noctis must be allowed to have a happy childhood, because his fate was a heavy burden, and he would need my help to bear it. I didn’t know what that meant at the time. But I helped him bear that burden, Gladio. So he could enjoy some peace before the end.” 

“He couldn’t have fled the prophecy,” Umbra says, chewing on the end of his tail. “Bahamut would never have permitted it. He would have become a creature like Ardyn, twisted and insane.” 

“And you and I both know Noct wouldn’t have flinched from his fate. Even if I’d told him earlier. He would have borne it, as he bore all the burdens of his rank. But he wouldn’t have had hope to carry him down the long road.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gladio can’t keep the pain out of his words. He’s thinking of Iggy shouldering that burden silently, all those years, knowing that somehow Noct would have to sacrifice himself to the gods, but never learning the full extent of it until that terrible night in Altissia.

Ignis takes his hands. “You never told me either.” Gladio presses them to his lips. “You’re crying again.”

“I couldn’t tell you. How could I? You were so brave and selfless and I— I just wanted you to be happy. I loved you, Iggy.”

“Every year of your life?”

“You remembered.”

“Every day. And I knew someday I’d get to meet you. I’m glad I got to see your face.” He traces the deep-gouged lines, vertical and horizontal. “I got to see that ponytail you grew for me.”

“And this time—” Gladio takes Iggy’s hands back and pulls them against his heart, unwilling to let them go again. “This time I can kiss you properly?”

“Yes,” Ignis says, laughing through his tears. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Umbra is pleased that he’s managed to weave a better pattern out of the mess he’s been given by the gods. Noct is dead, yes, and his sweet Luna, and Pryna, whom he had loved dearly, in both her canine and astral forms. But the sun is shining brightly on his fur, and the two humans are twined together again, as they were always meant to be. He rests his nose on his paws and goes to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Episode Ignis knocked us all off balance. How could Ignis receive that vision and not tell anyone about it? Why? This story is my attempt to make Ep Iggy fit canon. Thanks for reading! You can follow me on Twitter at @onethouneedles (where I post frequently) and on Tumblr at @billionhighways (less so).


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